


Look Out

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 11:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17223242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: Spot worries about Crutchie after the events of the strike.





	Look Out

“You looking out for him, Kelly?” Spot asked. The tone of voice he used made Jack roll his eyes. The thing about Spot, was that he was about ten feet shorter than anybody else Jack knew, and still thought he was the boss of everybody. No wonder Crutchie had decided he’d be better off in Manhattan than living in Brooklyn under his brother’s (tiny) shadow.

“You know how he is,” Jack said, though in truth he didn’t know much about Crutchie, personally. “He’s an independent little guy. Nothing drives him away faster than trying to help him do anything. The kid sleeps on the street half the time. I’m convinced he’s doing it just to show he can.”

Spot scowled. “Why you think I’m telling you to watch out for him, huh? He’s not scared of nothing.”

“Me neither,” Jack said, shooting Spot his cockiest grin. “Least of all you.”

Jack didn’t think of Crutchie, walking back to the lodging house. He thought about Spot’s face at having his wishes ignored, and whistled the whole way home.

——-

The thing with Jack, was that as much as he hated Spot telling him what to do, he felt responsible for his boys in Manhattan. Not the way that Spot was responsible for Brooklyn. Jack didn’t consider himself the boss of nobody else, and if Manhattan didn’t have a leader like Brooklyn did, Jack figured it was because Manhattan didn’t need one, and Brooklyn didn’t either. Jack had never been one to seize up power just because he could.

And so, Jack kept an eye on Crutchie, because he couldn’t help it. Later, he befriended him, because why the hell not? Crutchie didn’t make a big deal about who his brother was, so Jack wasn’t going to either. Before long, Jack found that he could talk to Crutchie like he could no one else. Night had always been Jack’s favorite time of day, the time where he could slip into the cool air and solitude of his “pent house” on the roof, and dream New York away with paintings and fantasies. The first night that Jack brought Crutchie up with him, though… well, that was the first night in a long time that Jack had felt contented with reality, and being exactly where he was.

Three days after that, Crutchie asked Jack to help him tie his shoe. “It’s hard, you know?” the boy said, with a little frown, like he was nervous about saying so. “Specially here. There’s nothing to grab onto.”

Plenty of boys had asked Jack to do stuff for them over the years. Race, for instance, asked Jack to spot him money at least once a fortnight. Specs had once dragged Jack out of bed at two in the morning, because Elmer was drunk and sobbing, and Specs couldn’t carry him home by himself. Finch needed help reading the headlines, and Romeo couldn’t understand clocks to save his life. If anything, Jack had a reputation of being there for people. The difference with Crutchie, was that Jack got the sense that he’d made a very deliberate decision to let him help, because they were pals, close pals, and that was the sort of thing friends did for each other.

——-

“We'se never going to get Spot on our side,” one of the boys complained, at the start on the strike, while Jack and Davey were busy figuring out which ambastards would be going where. It was a common sentiment, repeated by many of the boys. Spot was intimidating, and no more likely to listen to you than the wind. Jack looked at Crutchie, who looked away. He hadn’t told anybody about his relation to Spot, and Jack wasn’t about to do so either, as long as Crutchie kept his mouth shut on the matter.

“Why’s Brooklyn so important anyway?” Davey asked. “It’s just one borough.”

A few of the boys laughed nervously at that, and Davey turned to Jack. “What is it?” he asked quietly. “What’d I say?” Jack just patted Davey on the shoulder, and resisted the the urge to roll his eyes.

“Hey, maybe Davey’s right,” Crutchie piped up. He was leaning against his strike sign. “It is just one borough.”

“Right,” Jack repeated, deadpan. Crutchie would forgive him later. Part of him considered marching up to Brooklyn himself, and telling Spot how good he’d been to his precious brother— only, it felt wrong. Crutchie was his best friend, not a playing card in some stupid newsboy political game.

One of the most uncanny things about Crutchie, was the way he seemed to know what Jack was thinking, even when Jack didn’t say it. Silences could mean as much as words to the right people, and Jack had known Crutchie long enough by now to know that he was the rightest person there ever was.

Crutchie didn’t say anything about the things that Jack hadn’t said, but he gave him a bright smile, which Jack nodded at, understanding. He’d made the right choice.


End file.
